"He will not. He dare not. Heaven help him if he tries any experiment of that kind. If he does, Rollo will kill him to a certainty."
"Ah, I had forgotten the faithful dog. Those dogs are more useful to us than a score of men. I will step by the back way and through my dressing-room. Oh, Enid, how glad I shall be to find myself outside the walls of this dreadful house!"
She flew along the corridor and gained her room in safety. It was an instant's work to throw off her cloak and compose herself rigidly under the single white sheet. But though she lay still her heart was beating to suffocation as she heard the creak and thud of a heavy step coming up the stairs. Then the door was opened in a stealthy way and Henson came in. He could see the outline of the white figure, and a sigh of satisfaction escaped him. A less suspicious man would have retired at once; a man less engaged upon his task would have seen two great amber eyes close to the floor.
"An old woman's fancy," he muttered. "Still, as I am here, I'll make sure that—"
He stretched out his hand to touch the marble forehead, there was a snarl and a gurgle, and Henson came to the ground with a hideous crash that carried him staggering beyond the door into the corridor. Rollo had the intruder by the throat; a thousand crimson and blue stars danced before the wretched man's eyes; he grappled with his foe with one last despairing effort, and then there came over him a vague, warm unconsciousness. When he came to himself he was lying on his bed, with Williams and Enid bending over him.
"How did it happen?" Enid asked, with simulated anxiety.
"I—I was walking along the corridor," Henson gasped, "going—going to bed, you see; and one of those diabolical dogs must have got into the house. Before I knew what I was doing the creature flew at my throat and dragged me to the floor. Telephone for Walker at once. I am dying, Williams."
He fell back once more utterly lost to his surroundings. There was a great, gaping, raw wound at the side of the throat that caused Enid to shudder.
"Do you think he is—dead, Williams?" she asked.
"No such luck as that," Williams said, with the air of a confirmed pessimist. "I hope you locked that there bedroom door and put the key in your pocket, miss. I suppose we'd better send for the doctor, unless you and me puts him out of his misery. There's one comfort, however, Mr. Henson will be in bed for the next fortnight, at any rate, so he'll be powerless to do any prying about the house. The funeral will be over long before he's about again."